


Overboard

by ohyouknowit2



Category: SPN, Supernatural
Genre: AU, Destiel - Freeform, M/M, Pirates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-01
Updated: 2014-04-01
Packaged: 2018-01-17 18:53:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1398754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohyouknowit2/pseuds/ohyouknowit2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Destiel Pirate AU. Based on the song "Gay Pirates" by Cosmo Jarvis.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Overboard

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic on Archive of Our Own, so if you like it, please comment so I know if I should continue to post more chapters on here or not. Thanks!

Dean hadn’t been able to get a job in town for the seven months he had been home from prison. One day, while sitting inside his brother Samuel’s home, where he had been staying since his return, Dean decided that he was sick of staying here, having to mooch off of his brother’s income simply because no one would hire him due to his reputation. He stood from the table with purpose and marched once again to the market down the road, as he had many times before. Once inside, he stomped to the counter and looked the manager in the eye, not hesitating to take note of the shop’s occupation.

“Listen—I need a job, and you’ve had a ‘Help Wanted’ sign up in your window for weeks. If you’d just give me one chance, I swear I-”

“No, you listen, Winchester. I don’t need you waltzing in here every other day begging for a job. I’ve told you my answer, so get lost!” The manager, Mr. Ross, walked around the counter and shoved his knobby finger into Dean’s chest, spitting the words into his face, causing him to lean away.

“You don’t even know me! Why won’t you give me one day and then you can decide if I can stay here and work for you? … Please, I really need this.” Dean retorted indignantly, giving in to his desperation in the end.

“I already know all that I need to know about you, boy; now get out of my store!” The man yelled, opening the door and shoving Dean out by the shoulder.

Before Dean knew what he was doing, he had turned around and taken his knife out of his belt and thrown it at the door as it shut, sticking in the wood where the manager’s left eye had been only seconds before.

Dean’s eyes widened before he scoffed, partially penitent, but shook it off and walked to pull his knife out. It was after he freed the blade that he felt the various pairs of eyes on his back, and he turned quickly to see a small group of men he’d never seen around before standing across the road where the dirt ground met the dock. When he made eye contact with the tallest one, a thick-built man with a bit of dark brown hair peeking from under his feathered cap, the man nodded and tipped his cap. Dean glared and shrugged it off, heading back to his brother’s house.

\----------

The next morning, Samuel sat at the breakfast table with Dean, eating while Dean threw his knife at the wooden pillar near the table while his brother asked him the same question that came up every morning—the only one Sam knew how to ask.

“Any luck finding work?” Sam asked, not looking up from his food.

Dean stared at him for a moment before sighing, “Sammy. I think we both know it’s not about ‘luck.’ We’ve lived in this town our whole lives- well, save a few years of mine- I really don’t figure a job will offer itself to me out of nowhere after all these repeated rejections. Anyway, I kind of severed some ties and my chances of ever getting work at Ross’ are even worse than the nonexistent they were before.”

“Why? What happened?” Sam asked hesitantly, finally looking at his older brother.

Dean smiled sheepishly and pulled his knife out of the pillar, twisting the handle in his fingers, placing the rounded end in his palm, pointing the blade lightly into the wood surface of the table.

“Dean, oh you didn’t-!” Sam laughed incredulously.

Dean looked down and pulled the knife out of the table, tossing it again into the wooden pillar without looking up to aim.

“Well, you are skilled—I’ll give you that. If only there was work in town involving knives. They’d have a hard time refusing you then.” Sam mused as he watched the impressive landing though Dean hadn’t watched where he threw the weapon.

“It hardly matters. He was never going to hire me anyway. I just can’t do the errands anymore because heaven knows he’s told the whole town about what a ‘threat’ I still am—that big-mouthed sadist.” Dean sighed, standing and taking his brother’s dishes to clean them. “I’m sorry, Sammy. I know what I did all those years ago was wrong, and I knew it wouldn’t bring our mother back, and-”

“Dean. I know. But everything is going to be okay now. I mean, you’re home, aren’t you? That’s all that really matters anymore.” Sam said with finality. It was always hard to talk about what had happened with their mother, and Dean knew that, so he let it go.

“Well, you better get going. Don’t want you to be late for work.” Dean grunted.

“Yeah, I’ll see you later, Dean. Don’t feel bad about Ross’, okay? We’re fine.” Sam replied.

Dean mumbled an unintelligible affirmation as Sam left, shutting the door behind him.

Frustrated by the previous day’s events, Dean decided he needed to get out of the house. He pulled his knife from the etched-up pillar and placed it in his belt, heading out toward the patch of woods past the docks. He muttered curses under his breath as he hurried past Ross’ shop and breathed in the fresh, crisp, air deeply as he hit edge of the woods. He walked a bit, finding his favorite spot—a clearing where he had practiced throwing since he got his first knife as a kid—his baby with a “’67” engraved at the base. He stood in the middle of the field for a moment, letting the clear air swirl into his mind, steaming the thoughts of yesterday and last week and the last seven months and the years before that away; turning the memories into fading, misty fog.

Then Dean felt it again—the eyes. Yesterday’s eyes were watching him. He heard the faint pad of a shoe pressing the soil down a few yards behind him. In one swift movement, he turned and threw his knife, tacking the tip of the toe of said shoe to the earth beneath it. The same feather-hatted man from the previous day grinned at him and bent to pull the knife from his shoe, stabbing the weapon into the tree behind him.

“Good with throwing, are we?” He seemed to purr.

“Why did you follow me?” Dean asked, not indulging the stranger’s inquiry.

“Ah, so we’re being blunt, are we? Well, in that case, I hear you need money and I see that you have valuable skills.” The man said smoothly.

“Excellent use of your senses. Is that all? I’ll be taking that.” Dean mocked, walking toward him to take his favorite knife from the tree.

The man caught his wrist as he pulled the blade free, and he searched Dean’s eyes for a moment.

“You want to hear what I have to say.” He whispered, the condensation of his breath hitting Dean’s cheek with a chill.

“I don’t think I do, Feathers.” Dean challenged, meeting his eyes.

Suddenly, Dean’s back was against the tree, the man taking his knife once again, holding it to his throat.

“You will show me respect. I am your Captain and you will refer to me as such.” He hissed, his nose inches from Dean’s.

Dean narrowed his eyes and took his baby back quickly, grabbing the Captain’s arm and shoving him to the tree in his place, proving that he was not intimidated by him and would fight back.

With their positions reversed, Dean’s eyes widened when the Captain suddenly began laughing, pausing in his fit to smile at him, “I was right about you. You’ll do just fine.”

Dean stepped back, arms dropping to his sides, too confused to know his next course of action.

The Captain straightened his jacket and his face turned serious once again.

“This is the last time I’m going to say it. You need money, and I’ve got room on my crew. You’ll get to use that pretty little throwing arm of yours. This is no place for a prisoner, after all. We leave the dock at sunrise. Don’t be late.” The Captain said in a low voice before he strode away.


End file.
